Monday, July 28, 2014

When rakish Ned
falls in with the wrong crowd, his brother decides to send him to the Continent
for “seasoning”. For Sophia, this just won’t do. She’s loved Ned for ages—and
also longed for adventure. She runs away from her boring suitors and disguises
herself as a cabin boy on the Defiant, the ship sailing Ned to
Italy.

Ned knows he’s not
good enough for Sophia, but once they’re on the Defiant, he can’t
stop himself from touching her, tasting her, loving her. Not when a wild
tempest and a band of ruthless pirates threaten them. Not when every look from
her gives him such pleasure. And certainly not when she comes, warm and wild
and willing, to his bed.

If they survive
their voyage, Sophia’s brother might kill him, but it will have been worth
every moment and every hot, sweet kiss.

Sophia stood on the bow of the boat in the
dark as the wind and rain lashed her face. She loved it. Loved it. Not only was
the storm elemental and fierce, it hid her tears.

Surely she hadn’t expected Ned to greet
her with open arms. Not when she had barged in on his adventure as she had. But
she certainly hadn’t expected him to be so horrid. His expression had
devastated her.

Foolish
girl, it said.

But then, her heart agreed.

She was foolish.

Foolish to ever think that he—

“You’re soaked.”

She whirled around, though she knew what
she’d see. More glowering.

She was right.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m reveling.” She thrust out her chin,
in case he didn’t believe her.

He gaped at her. “Reveling?”

“Yes.” She didn’t mean to shout, but his
wintry demeanor annoyed her tremendously. She threw out her arms. “Look at
this!”

“It’s a storm.”

“It’s beautiful. The waves are wild,
untamed—”

“You could be swept overboard.”

“The wind is howling and the rain is
savage. It’s glorious.”

“It’s freezing. Come inside.”

“It’s not freezing. It’s summer.”

“I’m
cold.”

“Then you
go inside.”

“Sophia Fiona—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name.”

“You sound like Ewan.”

“I’m starting to think Ewan is a saint.”

She glared at him. “What a beastly thing
to say.” She hated that her chin wobbled a little. Hated that he winced.

“I’m sorry, Sophia. This has been trying
for me.” He sluiced the water from his face. “Won’t you please come inside?”

“All right. Fine.”

“You will?”

“You did say please.”

He blew out a breath and offered her his
arm. She frowned at it. “I’m a cabin boy, remember? You don’t offer a cabin boy
your arm.” When he didn’t lower it, she smacked it. “Someone will see.”

That caught his attention and he slowly
lowered his arm. “Right then. Come inside.” He followed her back to the cabin,
his stride decidedly unsteady. If anyone was tipping overboard, it was most
likely him.

When she once again stood in his chambers,
she realized the folly of her actions. She hadn’t brought a change of clothes
and she was drenched. So was he. Without a word, he relit the lamp and then
opened his trunk and pulled out several shirts, two of which he tossed to her.
“Change.”

That was it. One word. Just “change” and
then he presented her with his back. She huffed a breath, but did as he asked
because she was really rather cold. The feel of the cloth falling over her
chilled flesh warmed her. Because it was his shirt. It had touched his skin.
She wasn’t sure why the thought sent heat scudding through her belly.

“Use the other shirt to dry your hair,” he
suggested, as he began toweling off as well.

She huffed a laugh. “All of your clothes
will be wet.”

“They’ll dry. Are you clothed?”

“Yes.”

He turned. And froze. His gaze locked onto
her bare legs. “I-I thought you said you were clothed.” A squawk.

“I am.” But the intensity of his stare
made her self-conscious, so she slipped into the bed.

“Close your eyes,” he said as he
unbuttoned the damp linen clinging to his chest.

“Why?”

“I need to change as well. I’m
f-freezing.”

“Okay.” She did. But she peeked.

He ripped off his wet shirt and her breath
caught at the sight of his broad back. Muscles rippled as he moved and she
swallowed. He was beautiful. He tugged the fresh shirt over his head and she
nearly whimpered as that magnificent vision disappeared. But then, he
unfastened his trousers.

All pretense of not peeking evaporated.

He sat and took a moment to work off his
boots. And then he stood. His trousers were tight, as was the fashion, and he
had to peel them off. As he bent, she caught a flash of his bare behind.

She must have made a noise because he
whirled around. His cheek bunched when he saw her watching. “You’re supposed to
have your eyes closed.”

She hunkered in the covers, as though that
would disguise the fact that her eyes were open wide.

“Sophia…”

It was probably wrong to grin at him, but
she couldn’t help it.

“Sophia Fiona!”

“Stop calling me that. It always makes me
think I’m in trouble.”

“You are
in trouble. You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

She tipped her head to the side. “We both
know Ewan will be so relieved to see me, he’ll forget how angry he is—”

Ned stilled and fixed her with a dark
glare. “What makes you think I’m talking about Ewan?”

“I… ah…”

“I’ve a mind to bend you over my knee.”

Why a shiver rippled through her, she had
no idea. She’d been spanked once or twice as a child and she hadn’t cared for
it in the slightest. But something dark and domineering in Ned’s tone made her
womb warm.

“You-you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I? Now, look away. Your brother
would skewer me if I gave you the education you’re about to have.”

She attempted not to snort. Ned—and
everyone—thought her a prim and innocent miss on account of the polish she’d
acquired at Lady Satterlee’s. Nothing could be further from the truth. As a
child, before Ewan had made his fortune, they’d lived a hand-to-mouth existence
in the slums of Perth. She’d seen more than one couple rutting against a wall
in a dingy alleyway. And at one point, she and her brother had taken refuge in
a bordello. She’d been only seven, but if she’d had an education, she got it
there. She could probably teach Ned a few things.

Still, because he seemed to expect it, she
squeezed her eyes tight and didn’t hardly peek at all as he finished changing.
Besides which, the spot she was interested in was mostly shadows.

With a great huff, he threw himself back
into the chair. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Don’t you want me to put out the light?”

“No. I want to be able to see where you
are.”

“I’m not leaving again tonight.” Probably.
Unless her despair overcame her once more.

“Leave it on.” A grunt, and not a very
nice one at that. Why he had call to be annoyed, she couldn’t fathom.

Blast and damn, he was an annoying man.
Sophia grunted as well and rolled over, facing the wall of the cabin. She
studied the patterns the swinging lamp made for a long while, listening as he
shifted one way and then the other.

It was really unfair for him to have to
sleep in the chair. This was his room. But he would never share her bed. She
grimaced at the way the words came out, but it was true. He wouldn’t. Unless…

She rolled over again and watched him
twist in the chair. He caught her eye and frowned.

“Ned?”

An impatient groan. “Yes, Sophia?”

“Ned, I’m cold.”

He stilled. Then barked, “Put on another
blanket.”

“There aren’t any more.” She faked a
shiver. She wasn’t cold in the slightest. She never was. Ewan said she ran hot.
“Brr. My teeth are chattering.”

His glower became a frown.

“I hope I don’t get ill.”

He paled. “You shouldn’t have gone out in
the rain. Why did you go out in the rain?”

She sneezed. Or something like it. “I
don’t know.”

“Sophia?”

“Am I running a fever?” She put her palm
to her forehead. “I think I’m running a fever.”

His brow wrinkled. He stood and made his
way across the tiny chamber as though on his death march. He set the backs of
his fingers to her cheeks. His frown darkened. “You are warm.”

“No. I’m cold.” She shivered and peered up
at him, her eyes as wide as she could make them. “Won’t you warm me?”

He wrenched his hand away as though she’d
burned him. “What?”

“Lie here beside me and warm me up?”

“There’s not enough room for both of us.”

“I’m small.”

“Sophia.” She’d never heard her name in
such a strangled voice, not even when Ewan was at his wit’s end.

“Just for a bit? You can be on top of the
covers. Surely that is decent.”

The muscle in his cheek bunched again, as
though he were grinding his teeth.

“Please?”

He gusted a sigh. “All right, Sophia.
Scoot over and make room.”

She did. With alacrity.

“And roll over, facing the wall.”

She frowned at him “Why?”

“Just do it. Please.”

“Oh, all right.” But only because he said
please. And because, when she was facing the other way, he couldn’t see her
grin.

He settled in behind her and a shiver
rocked her. He was warm. And he smelled delicious. Not fishy in the slightest.
It was delightful, lying here with him. She closed her eyes and imagined he
wanted this as much as she.

If only. If only.

Check out the other books in the Noble Passions
Series from Sabrina York

Follow
the decadent exploits of friends and enemies as they find love and passion in
the glittering world of the Regency—and its dark underbelly.

Widowed and threatened with penury by her heartless in-laws, Eleanor--Lady
Ulster--hatches a plot to save herself. Determined to produce the Ulster
"heir", she seduces a stranger at a tawdry masquerade. Little does
she know, this magnificent masked lover is none other than her husband's
greatest nemesis. And God knows Ulster had plenty.

Ethan Pennington is mortified to arrive at a house party and discover Lady
Ulster in attendance. He has wanted her and hated wanting her--his enemy's
bride--for years. When he overhears Eleanor's predicament and her plans to
place a cuckoo in the Ulster nest, he is more than willing to oblige. The
opportunity to finally claim her--while taking the revenge he craves--is more
than he can resist. Ethan strikes a bargain with Eleanor, promising to provide
her with the heir she so desperately needs...if she will meet his needs in
return. Every decadent one of them.

When
Lady Helena Simpson flees an unwanted marriage to a revolting lord, she finds
refuge with James, a charming, handsome man unlike any she’s ever known. Helena
concocts the perfect solution to her problem. She asks—begs—James to ruin her.
Surely her betrothed will repudiate her if she is no longer pure. And if all
her efforts fail and she still ends up married to a horrid man until the end of
her days, she will at least once have known true passion.

But
James is not all he seems. He is, in fact, a wicked lord with a dark fancy.
When Helena awakens his desire, he becomes determined to take everything she
has to offer and more. No matter the cost.

Edward
Wyeth, the Dark Duke of Moncrieff’s life has been turned on its end. His
well-ordered home has been invaded. By destitute relatives. From Scotland. How
on earth can he write Lord Hedon’s salacious novels with hellions battling in
the garden and starting fires in the library? But with the onslaught has come a
delicious diversion. His cousin’s companion, the surprisingly intriguing
Kaitlin MacAllister. He is determined to seduce her. Using her desperate need
for funds and her talents as an artist, he convinces her to draw naughty
pictures for his naughtier books…and he draws her into his decadent web.

But
Kaitlin has a secret. She’s fled Scotland—and a very determined betrothed. When
Edward’s cousin is kidnapped and held in her stead, Kaitlin is honor-bound to
return to her homeland and rescue her—much to Edward’s chagrin.

Because
suddenly he can’t bear the thought of Kaitlin marrying another man. He can’t
bear the thought of losing her at all.

Kidnapped
and held prisoner by menacing Scottish brigand, the notorious McCloud, Violet
Wyeth does her best to persevere…and resist his rakish charms. But when she
realizes The McCloud is really Ewan St. Andrews, the boy who once saved her
life, the boy who once kissed her and made her heart flutter, she is lost.

Ewan
has every intention of marrying Lady Kaitlin MacAllister. He desperately needs
the entrée into the ton this bride
can provide. But when his bride is delivered—bound and gagged—it’s not Kaitlin.
It’s Violet Wyeth—the girl who betrayed him and ruined his life when he was a
boy. He keeps her, determined to punish her for her sins. But when he discovers
the truth about what really happened so long ago, and seething passion rises
between them, he can no longer hold on to his rusty grudge. By the time he
realizes how much he loves Violet—that he always has—he’s lost her.

All
he can do is follow her. Follow her into the bowels of hell—and partake in the
torment of the glittering London Season, where the harpies are far more
dangerous than a Scottish brigand.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Loss of love is a common theme in romance,
and it shows up in my stories from time to time. In The Trouble With Memories,
Lucy is mourning the fact Cal no longer remembers her. He lost his memory as a
result of the Mars Mission and though she wants to pick up where they left off,
she can’t. But the loss didn’t only affect Lucy. Later in the story, Cal
discusses why he was so susceptible to the Martian’s mind games. He says, “I
didn’t have Lucy. Without her, I’m weak.” With a broken heart, any of us can become
vulnerable, even an alpha wolf.

In Darkest Magic, the alpha wolf, Eli,
loses his mate. He’s taken a new mate, Petrina, not realizing she’s really an
evil witch. In his weakened state of heartache, he invites evil into the pack
and falls under its spell. Luckily for Eli, he has a very loyal beta wolf named
Nik who will do everything he can to rid the pack of the evil magic while
holding it together with his bare paws, if need be. The only thing Nik won’t
stand for is Eli threatening his daughter, Caroline. There, Nik must draw the
line. He loves her, and though they are not yet mated – for some unknown reason
– he will fight to save her from the evil magic.

During the final battle, Caroline herself
falls prey to Petrina’s spells. She thinks she sees Nik being killed by her
father and rushes to help, only to put herself into the greatest danger. For
Nik, Caroline is weak, just like Cal was weak without Lucy.

Sometimes it truly takes two to make the
good magic work!

For more on Darkest Magic, see below.

Thanks for reading!

Eva

EXCERPT: Caroline is momentarily weakened by her love for Nik

Hideous cries came from the woods. Was it
Petrina howling in pain or the other witch? Unable to tell, she opened the door
about an inch. Nik wouldn’t mind if she just peeked a little, would he?

Outside, the world had gone topsy-turvy.
Patterns of spells and energy swirled over a thin, nearly-invisible barrier in
the middle of the woods. The shield separated the two warring factions. On one
side Petrina, Eli, and several of his soldiers. Otis, Estrella, and Nik on the
other. Caroline cracked the door a little farther to get a better view. Her
gaze locked with Petrina’s glowing green eyes. For several seconds, she could
not look away. She went dizzy and clutched the wall to keep from falling down.
When at last she blinked, everything had changed for the worse.

Her father had Nik trapped against the
barrier, his fierce, long claws raking over his body, ripping him apart,
shredding the flesh from his bones. Blood pooled at Nik’s feet, and his eyes
rolled back in his head. He screamed her name before falling to the ground in a
lifeless lump.

An echoing screech burned through her lungs
as she raced toward him. Before she reached his side, Otis was there, pulling
at her, not letting her get closer. He possessed a surprising amount of
strength for such a little man. Though she kicked and hit him, she was unable
to break free of his grasp. Sorrow pierced her heart. She needed to get to Nik.
Why were people always keeping them apart? Desperate, she cried his name over
and over, but he did not move. Nik was dead. Her one true mate gone forever.
Tears flooded her vision as her heart crumpled. Even though they’d only spoken
words of mating to each other and not physically joined, her soul prepared to
die of sorrow.

The next instant, Estrella shrieked and
flew above her and Otis. With her hair flying around her and magic zapping from
her fingertips like liquid lightning, she made a fearsome sight. She crossed
right through a bright, swirling, magical barrier and collided headlong with
Petrina. The two witches screeched as they fought, their limbs tangling around
each other in a whirl of motion so fiercely bright it hurt her extra keen eyes
to watch. Neither witch drew blood, but their use of magic shook the shield,
the trees, and the forest floor as though they would tear the entire world
apart. A thunderous roar split the air and the partition shattered, exploding in
a flash of white light. When the forest returned to normal, things appeared
very different.

Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a certified Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.

I've been a huge fan of Denyse Bridger's work for years now. This is one author who knows how to touch upon every human emotion and bring them to the forefront of your own mind and soul. Heart of Stone will make you feel as if you're center-stage with the characters Denyse has created. Better yet, you BECOME the characters. She weaves worlds with such rich detail and characterization you can't help but enjoy her books. Be prepared to laugh, cry, sigh, and swoon as you read this sexy tale.

Randall Stone is the stuff of heroes, a
mercenary given a discharge from the army he has served with his life. But the
government is still interested in using the skills they've taught Major Rand
Stone, and he continues to work with his hand-picked team. Into his shadowy
world a light has come, and in her love, Stone discovers unhoped for joy, and,
perhaps, unbearable sorrow?

Excerpt:

“How many messages do you think he’s got
waiting for him?” Blake asked as they trailed after Stone.

Rand heard Jennifer’s laughter, and
suppressed a smile at his team’s banter.

“Well, we’ve been gone three weeks, and he
said to call in three days. By now she might not even be talking to him.”

“That don’t look promising,” Nick Holloway,
a temporary team member selected for this particular mission, noted when they
entered the military hangar and spotted Brookman waiting for them. On loan from
the CIA, Nick had been an unofficial presence on many missions organized by
Donald Brookman over the years. He’d worked with Stone’s team several times
before, and was giving serious thought to making the move permanent.

“Listen, Brookman,” Rand began when they
reached the International Security Director, who was their unofficial boss.
“We’re tired, and I am not going
anywhere for at least a couple of days.”

The rest of the team had stopped at his
back, and his assertion was echoed by muttered affirmatives. When Donald said
nothing, the silence settled, a strained, tension-laden quiet that was both
ominous and unnerving.

“Brookman?”

Donald ran a hand over his silvery hair and
looked Rand directly in the eyes.

“Robin Bourne died three days ago,” Donald
stated softly. “Her car went off the road. She was killed in the explosion.”

The silence held for several seconds.

“What?” It was an expulsion of air,
disbelief the only emotion present in the whispered word. Rand’s smile
faltered. His gut told him it was true, but his head wasn’t ready to accept it.

Behind him, he felt shock radiate from the
other members of the elite mercenary team. Jennifer touched his shoulder, but
he shrugged her off, not willing to accept the comfort she was clearly trying
to offer him.

“What the hell are you telling me,
Brookman?” Fury rose like a tide, blotting out the pain he wasn’t ready to
face. “She was on her way to New York for that bastard Ethridge when I left. Is
that where this happened?”

“She went directly from New York to Butte,
stayed with Lucky for nearly a week then came home. She was back five days
before her death,” Brookman said.

“No!” Rand closed his eyes and rubbed them
as his thoughts raced at warp speed. “There’s been a mistake—”

“Forensics gave them positive
identification from dental records,” Brookman told him, visibly reluctant to
impart the details. “When they couldn’t reach you, they contacted Lucky. He
called me.” He reached into his jacket pocket and held out his hand.

Rand lifted the charred necklace from
Donald’s palm. The silver dog tags with Rand’s name engraved into them;
Jennifer had given them to Robin as a birthday gift, and she’d worn them from
that night on, telling him that they made her feel just a little bit more his.
That lack of feminist in her was one more complementary trait to Rand’s
chauvinistic nature. She was happy to belong with him and to him.

Rand’s fingers closed over the tags, and he
walked a few paces away from the group, pulling himself under control as he
accepted his friend’s news. He turned to stare at them, dazed.

“Lucky and D.J. arrived this morning,”
Brookman told them. “They’re at the club.”

Jennifer went to Rand’s side. “I’m so
sorry, Rand.”

He nodded. He had no words.

“My car’s waiting,” Brookman interjected in
a quiet voice.

“Who’s in charge of the investigation?”

“Detective Eric Karmac.”

“He’s our first stop,” Stone said, mentally
distancing himself from the grief he knew he’d be living with for a long time.
He’d grieve later, when he could tell himself he’d done something about her
death. About the death of the first woman in much too long that he’d allowed
himself to love and need.

Brookman gazed at the others, worry and
uneasiness evident in his wary expression.

When Brookman would have asked more
questions, Rand turned away and stared out the window.

“Later, Donald,” he whispered, his voice
thick with too much pain.

The light squeeze of Donald’s hand on his
shoulder was almost his undoing, and he closed his eyes for a moment as he
forcibly put the grief aside to think about what he was going to do.

* * *

Brookman wasn’t convinced taking Rand into
the morgue was a course of action that would do anything but cause more pain to
the younger man. But Rand wouldn’t be dissuaded from seeing what little
remained of Robin’s body. Maybe it was the only thing that would make it real
for him, Donald decided, and followed him into the cold, antiseptic room.

“This isn’t necessary, Rand,” Donald
ventured for what he knew would be the final time.

“Have your people done the follow-up?”

Brookman shook his head. “Is it really
necessary?”

Stone smiled, an expression that was a
world away from the casual devilment the shift in features usually conveyed.
There was nothing, only the cold mask Donald knew hid the more lethal aspects
of Rand’s personality. “…He’s a stranger
in so many ways. Like there are two different people living in the same body,
and I only know one face in many…” Robin’s voice whispered the words in his
memory, and he began to understand the statement with new clarity as Rand
stared at the blackened remnants of the woman he had loved much more than he’d
had time to realize.

“I want everything double-checked,” Rand
said softly. “Triple-checked, if necessary. I don’t want any doubt, Donald,” he
finished as he turned to leave.

“Why—”

“Because I have to know!” he snarled before
Brookman could finish the query.

At the police station Rand was given the
reports to read, and he questioned Eric Karmac thoroughly on each piece of
evidence the police had collected.

An hour later, they were headed for the
Western Star Health Club. The health club had been established a couple of
years earlier as a convenient cover operation for the government affiliated
mercenary team. Rand had an apartment above the club, and his fortress-like
command center was below ground. He conducted most of his life from the
confines of the club, when he wasn’t trotting all over the world for Brookman.

“What are you going to do about her
mother?” Brookman asked.

Rand’s eyebrow rose. “Why?”

Donald decided to wait for a few minutes,
until they were inside the club and he knew if he’d have to make an
announcement in front of Robin’s family.

As (bad) luck would have it, both mother
and sister were present, sitting well apart from the members of Randall’s
mercenary team. Clara’s hostility seemed to be directed at Lucky.

“You must be Randall Stone,” she said,
rising from her seat the instant Rand came through the door.

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” he replied, shaking her
hand.

“I want to see my daughter’s home, and I’ve
been told that will be impossible without your consent.”

Rand glanced at Lucky and resisted a smile
when the other man merely shrugged.

“There may be a slight problem there,”
Donald interjected.

Clara’s icy gaze moved. There was little
resemblance between Robin and her mother, and the lack of warmth that emanated
from the well-groomed, chic woman who glared at him was as striking as Robin’s
earthy, easy-going manner.

Aureena Shelton was a mirror image of her
mother—tall, slender, fair. “What type of problem?” she asked, her annoyance
clear to everyone.

“Robin’s left very specific instructions on
how things are to be handled, and who is to handle them,” Donald told them,
feeling the various levels of surprise his words evoked. “All decisions are to
be made by the person she’s left in control of her estate.”

“And that would be?” Rand prompted.

“That would be you, Rand” Brookman said.
“The will is straightforward, and the executor assigned.”

“Are you telling us that Robin has cut us
out entirely?” Aureena snapped.

“Of course she hasn’t.” Clara’s voice rang
with impatience. “We’re her family. All the family she had.”

“Wrong again,” Lucky spoke into the lull,
his smooth voice unexpectedly chilly. “We’re Robin’s family. Look around you,
Mrs. Shelton. The people your daughter cherished most are right in front of
you.”

Clara’s stare moved from face to face,
seeing strangers who grieved more visibly than she ever would. Her gaze stopped
on Lucky, and would have unnerved a lesser man. When Lucky simply stared back,
she was forced to look away.

“I want to see the paperwork,” she said.

“It’s all here,” Brookman assured her.

Rand left them to fight it out. He was
tired, and there were too many things he needed to look into. When he closed
his office door, he looked around, feeling Robin’s presence in the room with
him. His gaze went to the photograph on his desk, and he had to close his eyes
to clear them of sudden haze. Eddie had taken the picture here in the office. Robin
was seated between his legs, surrounded by the remnants of her birthday party.

Rand crossed the room and lifted the
receiver off the phone.

A half hour later, the door to his office
burst inward, and Clara Shelton stormed in.

“I want to see my daughter’s house,” she
informed him, anger blazing from her entire manner.

“I can arrange that,” he said. Having just
spent twenty minutes on the phone, gratefully accepting the comfort of his
grandmother’s warmth, he could more readily appreciate Robin’s rancor toward
her own remaining parent. Some of that hostility dimmed a second later when
Clara picked up the photograph he’d been looking at minutes earlier.

Clara’s momentary softening vanished. Harsh
laughter sprang from her as she placed the picture back on his desk.

“Robin’s capacity for indifference was her
most amazing quality, Mr. Stone.”

“You didn’t know her very well, did you?”

“Quite the opposite.” She smiled bitterly.
“I knew her too well. She was her father’s child from the day she was born,
and, like Edmund, she cared for no one’s needs but her own.”

Rand shook his head. “I’m not going to
discuss this with you, Mrs. Shelton.” He rose. “I’ll have one of my people take
you to the house.”

“That won’t be necessary. Just give me a
key.”

Rand smiled. “I’m afraid it’s not that
simple, ma’am. The house has a security system. Without one of my team, you
won’t be able to walk in.”

“What on earth did a man like you see in
her?” Clara murmured, after a thorough and insinuating appraisal of Rand.

“Everything you didn’t, apparently,” Rand
commented dryly. He didn’t give her time for further conversation. He returned
to the main area of the club, Robin’s mother only a few steps behind him.
“Jennifer, would you take Mrs. Shelton to the house and stay with her?”